Lonely souls
by Blueberry Absinth
Summary: While a bigger reunion was going on, two souls, one clear-minded and the other under a spell, meet in the dark of the night... JackiexGinjo, fluff


**_Cause there aren't any JackiexGinjo out there and I can only write pointless fluff. HA! XD_**

**_Discl.: I don't own Bleach. If I did... khkhkh :]_**

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><p><em>...<em>

_..._

_..._

_He is back. _

This was the only thought that Jackie could register in her mind, while looking at him. His smirk was the same, his eyes held the same old devious spark, he stood proud and tall and trustful. She could sense it: that strange amnesia of his was gone and he could surely remember his friend Tsukishima. Finally, he was an ally, not an enemy.

The two men were standing next to each other, like the comrades they actually were, and even though both of them were talking, mocking Kurosaki (she wondered why; was it some weird form of a cure?) but from time to time she could feel him stealing a glance to her.

She fought not to giggle like a schoolgirl and pat her eyelashes immaturely. Yes, she was that relieved.

_He's back. Oh God, he's back! _

…

...

By the time they got home, however, she was seething. He was clearly avoiding her, clearly preferring to hang onto Tsukishima's sleeve and talk with him about random male stuff. Come on! It wasn't like she was transparent or something! Whatever semblance of patience she summoned for his sake wasn't going to last very long. Hell, even Yukio, master of the tsundere art, had managed to check up on Riruka, in all denial.

Surely, it couldn't be this hard, she reasoned while stripping to a simple T-shirt, too big for her but pretty comfortable. Her legs were freezing though; but she ignored them. The tiles of her room were too cold, like usual.

Ah well. Suppose tonight she'll be too.

Without even the smallest sigh of discontent she went over to her bed, fully intending to have a nice, long sleep.

…

...

Meanwhile, a figure was stalking through the corridors of Tsukishima's mansion. Its shoulders were slumped, heavy as though from carrying a mountain. There was just the faint rustling of a fur coat and the clinking of a necklace.

Not even a sigh of anger.

Ginjo really hadn't wanted things to turn out like this. Sure, everything was going according to plan: they had the power of that shrimp Kurosaki and felt more alive and powerful than ever. However, the problem didn't lie there: it was the fact that only he and Tsukishima were in their right mind at the moment.

The others were brainwashed.

Honestly, he couldn't care less about Riruka or Yukio or even Giriko. After all, the midgets had each other and the time lord was old enough to know what he's doing. He couldn't care less that in their eyes Tsukishima was now an idol, a father figure, something to aspire to be. They were nothing to him; they weren't worth his attention. Instead—

He fretted about Jackie.

Yes, fretted like a doting parent, like a teenager who felt more responsible than his actual age, like a mother cat looks after its cubs; worried like a man would worry about his wife, even if she was annoyed with him.

He hated the fact that she thought Tsukishima a friend.

Because for her, he wasn't. He _wasn't supposed to be_, anyway. But still, he was there, in her mind, the figure who had always been there for her, who had saved her from the evil normal humans: the cowards, afraid of their Fullbring. And in her memories, as almost fading silhouette, always standing next to that tall, lean man with the habit of always having his nose buried in a book, was Ginjo.

Thanks to Tsukishima they had met and thanks to him something (he didn't dare call it anything else) had blossomed between them…

And sadly, only two people knew that all this was bullshit.

Though both of them had agreed that it was better if Tsukishima was a more prominent figure in everyone's pasts (and it really was for the better) but still, he couldn't help feeling so neglected.

With such heavy thoughts he reached her room and without any kind of hesitation, knocked twice.

(What? He would never stop in front of her room, in what'd seem a dramatic scene. He wasn't really fond of this stuff.)

She opened the door, all dishevelled hair and a t-shirt suspiciously big enough to be his own. Her eyes were half-closed and her mouth opened and closed, trying to form words that'd never come out.

At this sight of her, so harmless and defenceless (only in look though), he snapped. And in the still of the darkness, he moved out to embrace her.

...

...

She was sleepy and confused and her cold legs were the only evidence she wasn't hallucinating.

The ice king Ginjo was hugging her out of nowhere.

Too tired to think of the why-s and how-s, she let her arms rest on the small of his back and buried her face in the warmth of his jacket. After a second, her legs followed, flexibly wrapping around his, in a meek attempt to get warmer.

All through her epic conquest of ridding herself from the cold (damn tiles! She was so buying a carpet!), something came to her attention. Even in the thick jeans and awesome leather jacket, he was shivering.

All right, maybe not shivering, but it was as though his body was attacked by a small hiccupping fit: he was moving involuntarily, not making a sound, not even doing this on purpose, hoping that she'd ignore it, after an almost-frostbite.

_He's having bad thoughts again._

She needn't even think about it. Gently he took him to her bed and pushed him, before flinging right next to him and smiling lightly (just a little smile she could afford in the middle of the night).

…

_come, soothe thy heavy brow… _

…

They spent the night lying on each other, talking about nothing and everything at the same time, never looking into each other's eyes.


End file.
